Wild Berry Meadow [m] some gin and juice

there is a moment of anticipation, of expectation for the rough kiss to his flesh. a shiver crawls it's way down his spine in expectancy of the joyous sting — of the love-bite that did not hit. and there is some measure of disappointment found in the yearling's stare, in his smile as it slinks. 

the flutter of wings does not draw his attention, his is fixated on the drug before him; the devil in a three piece suit. 

the man booms a joyous holler, and the boy leapt to his feet with the crackle of joints. he is taller now, though slouches to skulk closer, a breath taken to drink in the man as if he were the finest of red wines. and should he slip close enough, he would blow a teasing puff against the man's ear where he had missed his mark on the boy. 

and then with no hesitation in the next beat, he would frolic away like a doe in season, a glance cast to see if the big-bad-buck would follow.